Liars
by Hesiod
Summary: They want each other, they desperately do. But they're both liars and Elsa can barely remember a time when they'd been anything else. Oneshot. (Elsanna)


**One-shot. **

**It's a bit of a different format from the typical stories on here, and it's a tad long. Give it a couple scenes and see how you like it.**

**Anyway, longer A/N at the bottom. See you there!**

* * *

"You've only been dating for six months," is all Elsa says. It's cold and condescending, and it's meant to be a dismissal.

Anna knew she'd react this way, but it's true love and Elsa doesn't know anything about love. She only knows how to shut doors.

She comes behind Elsa, pressing tentative fingers to her sister's bare shoulders. Elsa doesn't acknowledge the touch. She continues reading.

"Hans is-"

Elsa speaks abruptly, "Leave."

* * *

Anna's twenty-three, but sometimes Elsa doesn't think she's a day above twelve. She's stubborn and naive and doesn't know what she wants even on the days she knows what she wants. She's a train off the tracks and Elsa can't think of someone more . . . _unstoppable_.

"Go away," she says, because she's having breakfast and it's her favourite part of the day. No need in ruining your favourite part of the day, especially if it's in the morning.

"I don't know why you're so angry with me," the redhead huffs. If she'd known her sister would come to resent her, maybe she wouldn't have agreed to live with her. She hates the way it makes her feel.

The ring on Anna's finger glints the way a long stretch of road does on hot, sunny days - the heat making for a dizzying mirage. Elsa's answer is in the way she glances at it, then down at her coffee, and then back again.

* * *

She's smashing her lips onto Anna's and it's not the way she imagined it, but things don't often play out as they do in one's head. Long fingers tangle into red hair, and now there's fire in her hands, her lips, her heart, and her blood. Anna's still angry at her from their fight, and her own throat still hurts from the screaming match. But this is the only way she knows how to apologize.

Anna's got a fistful of her shirt and she's not sure if she's pulling her closer or clenching her fist from the anger. But she kisses back and it's been far too long since Elsa's felt those soft lips moving against hers. There's an aching fire behind the action and she knows Anna feels it too - she _must_ feel it, too. But despite that, and despite all the reasons they should be together, there are a million reasons why they shouldn't; and _that_, they both feel.

Anna breaks away and Elsa lets her slide out of reach, fingers curling just as a last strand of hair falls from her open palm. Her sister storms off without a word, angrier than before and it makes Elsa feel strangely cold - despite her boiling blood and tingling lips. There's a plea on her tongue but she doesn't think Anna will hear and she's a little too proud to speak it. She slams the door, instead, and retreats back into her room.

She's not good at apologies anyway.

* * *

The silence between them lingers like heady stares and _shouldn't haves_. It's heavier than half-lidded eyes at 3am, back when they used to stay up late together. Back when entangled legs and laced fingers weren't a sore memory, when they weren't only forgotten truths.

She can stand them being apart, but _this_ she can't stand.

Anna had once called Elsa sentimental, and Elsa laughed because she had never found a word so unbecoming.

But she supposes she's sentimental now.

"I'm sorry that I kissed you," Elsa says, as soon as Anna comes home that evening. She barely has a foot through the door, but Elsa's been waiting all day to tell her.

Anna pushes through, setting her keys on the table and her coat on the rack in a methodical way that makes Elsa think she's biding her time. She looks at Elsa, lips pulling to the side like she's annoyed. "No you're not," she says, because she knows better.

They both know better. Sorry is only a word, and she doesn't have to mean it to say it.

Elsa slips her hand into the nook of Anna's elbow, catching her before she can walk away. Her voice is scratchy because the words are hard to speak and they admit to something that she'd rather not say. "I- I'll try harder," she promises. She's used to making promises. They're a little bit like lies, but at least they're not outright.

Anna's arm relaxes into the touch. She nods, but Elsa doesn't think she believes her. That's fine, because she doesn't believe herself either. Not entirely, anyway.

They share a look that's more telling than their verbal exchange, and Elsa wants to say something else. But she knows she'll sound selfish, so she keeps the confession behind stitched lips.

Then her fingers loosen and she lets her sister go.

* * *

The rain spitter-sputters against the window and Elsa doesn't know how anyone concentrates during thunderstorms.

Hans is over and Elsa is counting the seconds until he leaves. She can tell by the way him and Anna chat, that she hasn't told him about their kiss. And she knows that he won't find out.

They're affectionate on the couch - on _her_ couch - and it makes her sick to her stomach. He can't stop talking about their wedding. Elsa makes it clear she thinks it's a horrible idea, and _then_ he stops talking about the wedding. He's a little embarrassed and tells Anna not to worry about it when she gets defensive.

Elsa doesn't care - they should know her opinion. Her opinion matters.

She's not concerned with whether Hans likes her or not because she sure as hell made it clear that _she_ doesn't like _him_.

Either he's good at hiding it, or he really just doesn't understand.

* * *

"You're making this difficult," Anna says when he's left. In Elsa's opinion, he'd stayed three hours too long.

The redhead is standing by her door, hands resting on either side of her waist like she's waiting for something. Elsa lets her wait.

"I love him and you're going to have to deal with that. I don't need you chasing him off every time he comes over,"

"Then go to his house," Elsa says evenly. She doesn't look up from her book.

"You_ know_ his parents are living with him, and his brother too. That place is overcrowded as it is."

"They like when you visit. _I_ don't like it when Hans visits."

"Well get over it. I'm marrying him soon so when I-"

Elsa snaps her book shut, interrupting her sister with a loud and sudden thud. "_You kissed me back, _Anna," she says bitterly, finally looking up. "You kissed me back and I don't believe for a second that you love him as much as you say you do."

Anna pauses, stung. The words hurt her beyond their meaning because what does Elsa know about love? - about Hans? There's a grimace, and then comes anger. "_You're_ the one who told me I should try to date other people," Anna says, as if her sister needs the reminder.

They stare at each other and it's not unlike a challenge.

Elsa holds her sister's gaze, wanting nothing more than to take her face between her hands and call her a child, a liar. Scream at her, kiss her. She talks quietly, speaking the only truth she's willing to tell, "To this day, I wish I hadn't."

* * *

They stop talking about it. It only leads to fights and they'd much rather be friends.

Anna lays on the grass, short-clad hips thrust sunward, hands folded behind her head. Her top had bunched up with the constant shifting, and Elsa ignores the skin peeking out between waist band and shirt end. Elsa sits on a lawn chair because the ground isn't for laying on, the ground is for walking.

Anna hums in her own content way and she offers a languid smile that could charm the sky.

"I've always liked being out in the open," she says. "It feels so free."

Elsa agrees without looking. A look might betray her.

So her eyes avoid Anna the same way she couldn't bear to look at their mother the first time they'd been caught.

"You ever wish you could go back to a moment in time? Go back and stick around for the parts you liked best?" Anna asks. Her toes wriggle and she frees them from her flip flops.

"What would be the point?" Elsa asks.

"Does there have to be one?"

"Yes."

"Okay, well . . . How about going back to visit the people you haven't seen since? That'd be interesting."

She can't agree. What sense is there in going back for the things that have left you behind? "They left for a reason, I'd think."

"But how nice it would be to see them again," Anna muses. She closes her eyes, shutting out the sunlight in favor of cool peace.

Elsa rubs her lips together. "Or terrible,"

"You're a pessimist!"

"No,"

"There's no saying it'd be a bad experience."

"I guess. I've always kind of thought that people get put in your life for a reason, though. You remember what dad used to say?"

Anna laughs, hitched and short. "He said a great deal of things," some good, if you could sort them out from the bad. Her cheek stings from the memory of an open hand.

"Well, he said that the people you meet are there to teach you something - that in every encounter there's a lesson to be learned. I suppose when they're gone it's because they have nothing left to teach you." Elsa slows. She doesn't know where she was going with this. Why bring up lessons from long-gone fathers? Why darken the day? "So . . . maybe going back to the past wouldn't be as fulfilling as we'd think."

Anna only shrugs. "I'd still like to. There are things I've left unfinished."

* * *

Hans is a pretty good actor; Elsa can admit to that. But it doesn't mean she enjoys sitting through a two hour play with him as the lead.

The event is not horrible. She sips free champagne and nobody's expecting her to smile or chat. Nobody's even interested. She's a ghost here like she's a ghost at home, which is how she prefers to spend her evening anyway. Plus, she didn't come for Hans. She came for the girl sitting beside her, bright-eyed and proud of her fiancé.

Red to compliment red, Anna had taken the time to dress up. It pays off and Elsa's not the only one that evening who can't tear her eyes away. Heads may turn, but Elsa's the one who gets a warm smile and an '_I'm glad you came, after all'. _Not the others.

As if to prove it, when the lights dim Anna gives Elsa her own performance of whispers and hot breath against hot ears. There are touches that may not be innocent and words that might have other meanings. She wonders if the hand on her thigh is a tease or an invitation, if the flip of Anna's hair is a flirtation or a habit. She doesn't know. She doesn't want to know, if it'll only lead to nothing. And it _will_ lead to nothing,

Because that is what they are.

Thunderous applause reminds Elsa that she's in a crowded theater, rolling her back the way a riptide claims a shore. Hans is accosted by fans, coworkers, and a couple people who are neither but they're high up and he thinks they're important. He stays - begs Anna to stay, too - but she declines and Elsa agrees to take her home.

It's raining hard when they exit the theater doors. They stay under the shelter of the overhang, water splashing at their exposed calves. It's cold and prickly on their warm skin but it also makes them giddy. Elsa wants to call a cab because they'll be drenched if they walk back to the train station - but Anna disagrees and Elsa's argument dissolves when her sister's hand slides into her own. With a grin, she asks if Elsa's ready. And because Elsa wants to please Anna more than she wants to stay dry, she nods.

"On three," Anna says, as they get ready to dash. ". . . _Three!_"

They run down emptied streets, shrieking when the first drops of rain fall over them. It turns into a contagious bout of laughter and Anna pulls her along, looking over her shoulder every so often to smile at Elsa, to make sure she hasn't fallen behind.

They reach the station and _now_ they're freezing.

Anna's foot plays at the edge of a puddle and she stretches out her open palm, catching the teardrop-rain. Then, she walks out of the shelter entirely so that Elsa's hand instinctively grasps a slick, wet shoulder to pull her back.

"Don't do that, you'll get sick." Elsa frowns.

Anna only laughs as water drip-drip-drips from her temples, inching down her face and collecting at her chin.

"It's warmer than standing in _there_," she says, smiling as if she's not getting drenched head to toe; as if she's not standing in the middle of a storm. Water droplets cling to her eyelashes and Elsa thinks she looks terribly beautiful. "I'm just having fun."

"And I'm just trying to keep you healthy," Elsa replies.

"Rain's meant to keep things alive."

"Rain gets things wet;"

Anna's face flickers with something hopeful and intense, and then there's a small smirk on her lips. "- it's meant for kissing too."

* * *

Of course Anna's sick. Elsa told her she'd get sick, but when has that ever stopped her from doing whatever she wants? Never. The stubborn, impulsive, irritating girl.

She's sure she'll get sick too; it's inevitable her sister will infect her. The heat is out in the apartment and there's a mountain of used tissues piling up on the coffee table. If the nearby germs weren't a telltale forecast, the source itself was.

Anna is closer, yet.

She's tucked herself into Elsa's rib cage where it's warm and safe, and Elsa doesn't have the will to pull away - nor the reason to justify why she should; why this small comfort should be denied. She_ is_ her big sister, after all. She's supposed to be there for her.

Plus, Anna's not as whiny as most people are when they're sick; she's red-nosed and resilient. She sniffles into another tissue and tosses it into the ever-growing pile. As much as Elsa finds herself annoyed, she also finds Anna adorable. She's always been the protector and her sister falls back on that instinct more often than not.

It's a good reason to be close.

* * *

Elsa's sick and now it's Anna's turn to take care of her. Or more accurately, to lay on her lap - because in whatever strange logic that governs her mind, _that_ is what will make Elsa feel better.

"Don't lay on me," Elsa protests; but Anna goes ahead and lays on her. "We're doubling up on the germs, you know."

Anna nuzzles closer, letting out a content sigh. "It'll be fine; I'm not contagious anymore."

The TV flickers with a movie of Anna's choice, but Elsa isn't really paying attention. She focuses on the warm press of a cheek against her thigh, the soft bump of a spine pressing to the side of her torso. Her arm is draped across Anna, resting in the nook where her body bends and her legs are gathered close. She holds on tighter than she should, as if the redhead might fall away at any time.

She wishes her heart wouldn't thrash so wildly against her chest. It competes with the sound of the TV, reinforcing a timid and trembling truth.

It can't be healthy. It can't be healthy, but it happens every time. Elsa is sure it'll kill her one day.

"We have work in the morning," Elsa says. Her voice is raspy from the sickness and maybe something else. "We should go to bed."

Anna's hand finds Elsa's in response. A soft thumb rubs over hard knuckles, touching every rise and fall like there's discoveries yet to be found.

"Let's stay a bit longer," Anna says.

Elsa purses her lips, but allows herself to oblige. She doesn't mention how she thinks Anna will always be contagious. She doesn't mention anything at all.

* * *

"I need you, Anna."

It's a simple enough confession, but Anna's not saying anything back. Elsa knows that she should be stronger and she always thought she was. But maybe she's not as fearless as she hoped, maybe she's not good at being selfless. The realization goes hand in hand with her breakdown.

Elsa doesn't know why it's hitting her now, why it took so long for the dread to fill her up all at once and pummel with full force. It's not like her. She's good at controlling her emotions - _was_ good at controlling her emotions. It scares her and the only thing she knows is that she has to say something, she has to_ try_.

She speaks again and her voice is only a desperate, pleading, whisper. "I don't want to lose you to him. I'll do whatever it takes; I'll be whatever you need me to be."

Warm hands gather up her own, collecting them in her lap. Teal eyes beg to be looked at, but Elsa's not even brave enough to do _that_. "Just be yourself, Elsa," she says. A sad little smile adorns her lips, and if it's pity then Elsa wants nothing of it. There's a comforting squeeze from the fingers caging her own. "It's all I'll ever need."

It's a simple answer to her simple confession, but it's not the response Elsa wanted and it's not enough to quell the panic tugging at her stomach. The thought of losing Anna scares her to death, but she knows she can never ask her for more. It feels like she's drowning in the ocean, it feels like she can't breathe. She's swept away with the undercurrent and the sea is swallowing her up. She wants it to stop. Did she read the signs wrong? She thought Anna might reciprocate - that she might want her, too. She's certain there is something more between them; she's knows it like she knows the hands touching her own. Familiar. Real.

Damn the consequences. Damn the hole in her chest. She wants Anna to be with her; she wants another chance. Can't she ask for that? Or is that too selfish?

She tries to speak again, but all that comes out is tears and choking sobs.

Her sister is patient, waiting it out. This is the nature of things. She knows that this is their reality.

Anna is the tide and she cannot stay.

* * *

We become who we are through repetition. Elsa knows this.

So she practices forgetting. She averts wanting eyes because the mind tends to see what it wants to see. She doesn't read into Anna's words, seeking meanings that might not be there. Shouldn't be there - not now, and certainly not before. She doesn't complain about Hans as much - and he's around more often now - she only makes herself scarce to maintain the balance.

Elsa once said she would try harder; so she does.

After all, a person is only as good as their word. Elsa knows this, too.

But it proves difficult because she sees Anna in everything. She's the steam rising from freshly-steeped tea; the brisk of morning after sleepless nights; the warmth of the sun, kissing her cheeks; autumn, _fall_.

So when the radio plays a song speaking of kisses that vibrate the entire body, Elsa shuts it off and ignores the twisting of her stomach. Stupid thoughts, stupid desires.

Anna doesn't belong to her, but oh God she wishes she did.

* * *

Midnight.

She can tell when Anna's running back to her. Tonight is one of those nights. Hans and her must've had a fight, a row; they _must've_. Anna wouldn't be there, otherwise. She twists an angry brow and means to question it, but when pale arms wrap around her neck and rosy lips claim her own, the question is lost between gasps. She should be angry but her hands betray her - they pull rather than push.

There's a single desk lamp to illuminate the small bedroom.; Elsa had been working on a late-night report before Anna burst through her door. She didn't waste any time, didn't say any words. A kiss to start it; a kiss to make words irrelevant.

Hungry kisses. Dominant kisses. Angry kisses. A tongue swiping across a fluttering pulse, a reason to bruise their lips. There are heavy, heady looks and silent promises that will be broken in the morning. There are soft cries and nods of permission, heated touches and clothes on the floor. There are no words.

Elsa gives her what she wants. They're unbearable.

Angry half-moons mark her back from Anna's digging nails. She peppers kisses along her sister's collarbone, fingers dipping into familiar heats. She earns soft moans and ragged exhalations, just a quiver of reddened, parted lips by her ear. She takes her time drawing Anna out, claiming her, raising her up and then bringing her back down. Elsa's touch is electric. Anna's response is whimpers, submission.

Porcelain hands settle atop golden hair and guide Elsa's head down between wanting thighs. Her tongue finds warmth between spread legs and she kisses at the sweet arousal. She hears her name; a chant, a plea - like she's the one who put the world together and she's the one who can make it come undone. Nobody says her name like that.

Arched back, thrusted hips. Three fingers now. Trembling. Anna watches through half-mast eyelids. She is hers. In these moments - fleeting, forbidden ones that cannot last - she knows that she is hers.

* * *

They wake up in a languid haze; arms draped across pale torsos, Elsa's knee brushing against creamy thighs.

Perhaps last night was a mistake, but at least Anna has the decency not to say it.

Elsa touches sleepy fingertips to sturdy collarbones, counting the splay of freckles. She props herself up, messy braid tickling Anna's chest. There's a drowsy smile tugging at the corner of Anna's lips. She's content. Elsa dips her head down and presses her lips underneath Anna's jaw. She presses gentle kisses into the delicate skin.

"I don't want to get up," Anna says, sighing into the sweet touch. She circles a hand at Elsa's waist, drawing her hips close. "Hans is probably goin-"

"I don't want to talk about Hans," Elsa says, evenly. She turns her attention to Anna's ear, taking the earlobe between her lips and earns a soft sigh. "He's an idiot."

"Okay," Anna says. She brings her hands up to cup Elsa's face and guides her mouth to her own. Elsa's not sure if Anna's agreeing with her statement, or agreeing to drop the subject. Either way, she's glad for the current distraction. "Put your fingers in me, then."

They kiss hotly before Elsa responds, in that same even tone, "Okay."

* * *

They continue on as if it didn't happen. As if it isn't _still_ happening.

Not often, but often enough. Can't they stay away from each other?

They share lingering looks, even when Hans' arm is hooked around Anna's shoulders. They brush each other when they pass, with small, simple touches. They say each other's names and know full well how it would sound in another, more intimate situation.

They are small triumphs, but Elsa is glad for them.

Some nights, Anna comes to Elsa. It isn't Elsa's place to go to Anna. She doesn't get to choose. Their situation isn't ideal and there are many things they elect to ignore.

They should talk about it. They will, eventually.

But the sear of lips and the promise of release is enough to push that conversation yet another day further.

* * *

They're picking out churches for the ceremony. For whatever reason, Anna has brought Elsa along - even though Elsa neither cares, nor appreciates the participation in planning the wedding.

It's intrinsically wrong to marry a man while you're fucking your sister on the side. That's Elsa's opinion, if anyone would care to hear it. She grumbles. She's in a lousy mood.

Voices echo in the beautiful church as the planner, Anna, and Hans walk through the pews, talking about how the place can be decorated. Elsa hangs back, scowling at the altar.

Was Anna even religious? No. She'd always said how she didn't like religion as an institution. How people are taught to say prayers they don't mean - to worship a God who they'll never see, never meet. Religion is a security blanket, it's just a way to give life structure. . .

But Elsa supposes that everyone needs something to believe in. She can't blame them. She knows all about holding onto small hopes.

When they get back to the apartment, Elsa goes straight to her room and sits at her desk. Anna is close behind.

A hand brushes the braid from her shoulder, fingers whispering over her throat. Elsa ignores it until Anna straddles her, gently taking her chin and forcing their eyes to meet. The corner of her lip tugs outward. "You're moody today," Anna says, simply.

Elsa broods at the statement, even as her hands settle on Anna's hip bones, thumbs hooking under the bottom of her shirt. She rubs absent circles into the skin there, silent.

"Tell me what's wrong," Anna says, keeping her face locked there so that Elsa can't look away. It's a striking clash of blue on blue, but their eyes are familiar with one another. Though it never lessens the shock. It doesn't take away the effect of leaving them both lost and breathless. "Have I upset you?" Anna asks.

"No."

"You're lying to me," Anna frowns. She has an eye for that kind of stuff. Elsa would know.

Still, she persists. "I'm not," she defends. Her tone of voice gives her away, and she grouses. "Get off me."

There's a push, but Anna resists, her brow hard-set and determined. She brings her body closer in protest. "Was it today? Is it Hans?"

Elsa grits her teeth, ignoring the newfound heat, the steady rise of her heart beat.

Of course it's Hans. It's the wedding. It's Anna's sweet weight on top of her, when it shouldn't be. What the hell are they doing? What are they playing at? "Hans always bothers me. You know that."

"You shouldn't let him. He's a good guy if you give him half a chance."

"I won't."

"You hardly give anything a chance, though," Anna's pressing voice is soft and her thumb is brushing at the corner of Elsa's lip. If Elsa weren't annoyed right now, she would press a kiss to it. But she _is_ annoyed, and today was a stark reminder that she is the second choice. Is Anna ashamed of her? Elsa knows that she is proud of Hans. Maybe that's why she's marrying him.

Her sister looks at her searchingly, patiently. "Why are you so content to remain difficult?" Anna asks, and Elsa bites her tongue - _as if_ Anna doesn't know what all this does to her, how it burns her. She is smart. Surely, she knows.

_'Content to remain difficult'_

Content is the wrong word. It's entirely the wrong word. She swallows thickly, "Because I-" Elsa starts, but the sentence trails. '_Love you'_ - was that what she was about to say? Stupid, stupid. Why should she care about someone who places her second only to a pretentious asshole? What a terrible way to let someone know what you think of them. Whatever this was - this, _this_, the kissing and the fucking and the secrets, has only served to hurt her. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Anna will only be with her if it's like this - if it's secret and to her convenience. And that thought hurts her more than all the others.

"- worry about you," Elsa finishes, offering a wrong word in return. She grimaces because the words unsettle her. Why couldn't she just say one honest thing? Why is it so hard to admit such simple truths?

Anna sighs, finally relinquishing her hold of Elsa's jaw. She smiles tiredly, either accepting the lie or declining the fight. "Don't. I'm quite capable, you know."

"I know," Elsa repeats. "You certainly are capable."

* * *

They've tapered down. It's for the best.

They ignite each other and burn everything they touch, so tapering down is for the best.

Elsa avoids her.

She doesn't know when the vicious cycle will end, she only knows that something manic still flutters in her stomach when she sees her sister just as surely as her heart feels pin pricks, too. A prick of pain to go with maddening desire. She feels it all over her body, all over the places that Anna had once kissed; where her hands had roamed, where their flushed skin had pressed together. Desire is a painful addiction, and she can't look at Anna without wanting to kiss her. She can't.

But she hates sharing her and the guilt turns something rampant in her gut.

What they've been doing is wrong - wrong for Hans, wrong for her. Wrong. It seems like there's no way to be together and be _right_.

So they've tapered down and it's for the best.

It hurts because it matters, but she's been made to conceal her feelings her entire life. _This_ is fine. This, she can handle.

And if she tries hard enough, she can become the cool blue of the ocean and not feel anything at all.

* * *

They walk down the street, hips bumping against each other. They're a bit drunk and the return home from the corner bar is unhurried and enjoyable. Wind bites at their cheeks, though the buzz from the alcohol is more than enough to keep them warm.

Elsa doesn't really know how she got in this position - how Anna had somehow persuaded her to come out, despite her ploy to avoid her. She's sure she'll regret it in the morning, but as of tonight, they're friends again. Sisters.

Her hands are jammed into her pockets and she tries to think of something to say other than '_I'm really sleepy_' or '_I think you should_ _kiss me again'_. Instead, she opts for silence because she's not sure which she'll blurt out first. Anna doesn't mind; she knows Elsa's always been the mellow type of drunk.

They tip their chins toward the night sky, picking out stars between street lights. It's not the greatest night for stargazing, but Anna points out constellations and satellites anyway.

"See that star there? The brightest one in the sky," she says, pointing.

Elsa follows her gaze and spots the star in question, twinkling against the blackness. "Mmhmm, it's nice."

"It's not actually a star," Anna says, a matter-of-factly.

"No?"

"It's the International Space Station. There are people up there from different countries around the world doing research," Anna asserts, an eager smile making it's way onto her face. "We shot the pieces up there and actually assembled them in space. Isn't that cool?"

"Yeah," Elsa says, though all she can really see now is irony. Sometimes she forgets that Anna took astronomy as a minor in college. "It's a bit . . . disillusioning." Elsa says, with a small frown. She wonders how many people look up at that thing and think _'what a beautiful force of nature' _- when all they're really looking at is a giant piece of floating metal.

Anna laughs. "I guess it's the same way people make wishes on shooting stars, when they're not stars either - they're just chunks of rock brushing through Earth's atmosphere."

"Ah, and science strikes again," Elsa smiles wryly. "I think you're ruining my childhood."

"No way, this stuff is so interesting," Anna says, grinning. "You'll thank me one day for all these trivia answers. Just watch. Plus, would you rather live a lie?"

"Sometimes, yes."

Lately, yes.

The thought is sobering, so she moves on from it quickly. "Why do you like the stars so much?" Elsa asks.

Anna gives it a moment's thought, as if the question is a heavy one. "I guess because they never leave," she says. "They were there when I came into this world, and they'll be there long after I'm gone. I like the consistency - I like knowing that some things in the world are permanent;_ infinite_. It helps that they're beautiful, too."

"They burn out, though."

"Yes, and some of them already have - but their light still travels." Anna says, with a pensive tone. "It takes years for them to fade. It's as if they're still there; we don't really notice until they're gone."

Elsa pauses, mulling it over. Something about it strikes her and makes her feel uneasy; but she's a bit too drunk place it. Instead, she looks at her sister and briefly thinks about kissing her - about wanting to kiss her. She wants to kiss her. The streetlight-moonlight mix makes her look lovely, and it makes Elsa think back to a time when they used to run around at night together as teenagers. It was a lot simpler, then. Though she supposes it's simple tonight, too.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Anna asks, when Elsa stares too long.

Her lip curls. "Because you're a nerd,"

"You love it," Anna quips back.

Elsa doesn't need to say anything. She does love it - the way her sister gets more animated when talking about stars and space, how her eyes widen and her voice takes on an excited edge. Most of all, how it makes her look so happy. She wishes she could make Anna feel that way, too.

"I'd give anything be up there. Just for a bit - to be surrounded by all those incredible stars. So few people get to see those things, you know?" Anna says, and she wraps her arms around herself, hugging away the wind.

In a blink, Elsa's already draping her sweater over her sister's shoulders, pulling the collar close to her neck. It's chilly in her short-sleeves, but Anna gives her a grateful smile and suddenly it stops being so chilly. Her hands find their way back into her pockets before she can let them linger. "You could do it," Elsa says, wistfully.

Anna giggles and looks back up at the sky. Elsa's gaze stays fixed on her face; in her opinion, the better view. "No, it's so competitive. People dedicate their entire lives to that kind of stuff. I'm just. . . Kind of here. Which is fine," Anna responds.

"If you wanted, you could do it," Elsa says again. And then adds, "I think you can do anything."

"You have to say that - you're my sister." Anna replies, but she grins all the same.

Elsa rubs her lips together. She isn't saying it just because they're sisters. No, it's a lot more than that. She means to tell her so - that she thinks Anna can do anything and everything; that she's talented and creative and smart. She wants to say a whole lot of things, actually. Anna's remarkable and she ought to know it.

Instead, she ends up slinging her arm around the girl. She pulls her close and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

"You're more beautiful than all of these stars combined." Elsa says, softly. Truthfully. "I don't think you'll ever fade."

Anna's grin widens and it's the look she gives her that reminds Elsa all over again, of why she ever fell in love in the first place.

* * *

"You're avoiding me," Anna says, slipping onto the couch beside her. Elsa stiffens, but doesn't move away. She _is_ avoiding her. Well, she was trying to. But Anna holds out a white cup and a brown paper bag, placing both on the table - indicating that she means to stay. "So I brought coffee and Chinese food. We're going to hang out."

Elsa takes the cup, popping open the lid and peeking inside. It looks the right colour. She's particular. She brings it to her lips and tastes it, eyes closing with approval. "You got my order right," Elsa says, wrapping her hands around the warm cup. "I've never told you it."

Anna laughs. "I've known you for twenty-three years, you dork. I'm bound to pick up on at least a few things," she gives her an amused look and it lingers a moment longer than average. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, expression flickering to something Elsa can't decipher. "Anyway, I've been thinking," she starts, slowly.

"Wow, that's a first," Elsa teases lightly. The coffee had greatly improved her mood - and Anna, of course, but she's not supposed to be feeling those things anymore, is she?

Her sister gives her a sideways grin, "Shut up. I've been thinking,"

"You've been thinking," Elsa repeats, enjoying the wait.

Anna looks to the ground and for some reason, Elsa thinks that she seems nervous. It takes another pause but when the answer comes, it's entirely not what she was expecting.

"Well . . . I think I could spend the rest of my life with you, you know?" Anna says, meeting Elsa's gaze again.

Elsa looks back with scrutiny, not sure of what she'd just heard. An involuntary hope rekindles in her chest and her heart starts to do _that thing_ again. She manages to keep it from her voice. "What?" Elsa asks. What was that supposed to mean?

Anna rubs her own arm and offers an unsure smile. "You and I are . . . _something_," she starts, not finding the right word.

"Insufferable," Elsa supplies, with a small smile, and it's a bittersweet joke on her part. At least _she_ finds them insufferable; if they were any less, they'd probably be nothing. She almost doesn't know which one she'd prefer.

Her sister chuckles, taking the humour in stride and perhaps glad for it. "Alright. Not exactly how I'd put it, but something of the sort."

"We are. We're laughing one moment and screaming at each other in the next,"

"Avoiding each other like we're plagued," Anna adds.

"And then you bring me Chinese food and it sets the balance straight again. Who knew?"

Anna looks thoughtful for a moment, but there's amusement in her eyes. "- we're terrible, aren't we?"

"Terrible is a good word, too." Elsa speaks, softly. She sips her coffee, grateful to have something to do with her hands, something to do with her mouth. She watches carefully as Anna unpacks the food from the brown bag, setting aside two white take-out boxes for each of them. She didn't realize that she was starving. She supposes it's the reason she feels the gnawing in her stomach.

"I'm sorry, you know." Anna starts again. She places a plastic fork on top of her box, and chopsticks on the other.

"For what?"

"Us," she states. She gestures between the two of them, her eyes uncertain and apologetic. "This,"

Elsa raises an eyebrow. "Which is. . .?" she trails, again leaving Anna to fill in the blanks. What was this anyway? She doesn't know.

"Messy. Terrifying. Sweet." Anna answers slowly, her brow furrowing.

One of those words doesn't belong.

"Am I making the right choice, here?" Anna continues; her eyes are downcast, and when they flick up again, they freeze Elsa in place. It's still there - the sanguine feeling; a small thing in Elsa's chest, slowly growing bigger. Is it wrong to find hope in her sister's conflict? Anna places a hand on the cushion between them, causing it to dip and her fingers touch Elsa's leg. "I'm so uncertain," she says, and leans closer. Elsa briefly thinks that she's moving to kiss her, but the motion halts and her sister sighs. "I've missed you, Elsa."

Elsa swallows and wants to tell her that she shouldn't have.

There's concern, too. When has Anna ever had doubts about Hans? Was it her - ruining Anna's chance at something good; something normal? Don't they always do that to each other? She stiffens, choosing to ignore the latter part of the statement altogether. "Do you feel like you're making the right choice?" Elsa asks. There's something in her voice that makes her sound hopeful, despite trying to hold that part back. She wants her to say no.

Anna bites her lip like something awful might spill out, as if uncertainty is the worst thing. But certainty can be a double-edge sword.

"Sometimes I do . . ." Anna says, hesitantly. "Other times, even when I'm with Hans, I see you and I think to myself - are you seriously going to let her go? How can you?" she finally admits. She shifts, reaching over Elsa and leaning her hand on the arm of the couch so that they're closer. She frowns for a moment before placing her free hand on Elsa's collar, fingers curling at the dip of her neck. The touch is careful, as if she's asking for permission - though they both know she doesn't need it.

"I think about the way you make me feel, and I don't know how I could ever live without that. I think about what we do to each other, the way that we kiss," her gaze falls down to Elsa's lips for a brief moment, "- how I melt in your hands, how your voice grounds me. Your touch, your patience," she searches Elsa's eyes, looking for something and not quite finding it. "You're incredible, Elsa. You make me feel like I'm more than I am. Like I'm someone who can actually make a difference with things. I'm scared most of the time, and you make me strong. Like I'm not just a silly girl."

Elsa listens. Sometimes, she does still think Anna's just a silly girl. ". . . But you sent me away. You shut yourself behind doors and didn't let me back in. You broke my heart back then, did you know that?"

Elsa's face gives nothing away, save for the crease growing on her forehead. How strange it was to feel anger and desire all at once. She did what she did to protect Anna. She did it many times. They were sisters, and years ago, that was the most important thing.

"That was a long time ago, Anna; a lot has changed between us," Elsa says - and though it sounds nothing of the sort, hidden in those words is an apology.

"Will this ever change?" Anna asks. Her hand still rests against Elsa's collar, warming her, bringing the skin alive. "I think about how unhappy you seem sometimes and I know that I'm the reason for it. Will we ever be okay?"

Elsa briefly thinks about lying; saying what she knows Anna wants to hear. But slowly, she shakes her head.

Not like this, they won't.

"I want us to be okay."

"Then don't marry Hans," Elsa says, and her assertion surprises even herself. Her voice sounds more confident than she feels. "Leave him."

"I can't."

"Why?"

There's a beat. Elsa feels the fingers on her collar tense. "Because I'm too scared."

"To leave him?"

"Yes," Anna says. Her attention flickers to her fingertips and there's another beat. "I love him."

Elsa grits her teeth. "Then you're a god damned liar."

She can't help it, the words tumble out before she can reel them back in, but there's a satisfaction in saying them.

"You're one, too." Anna responds, and Elsa knows that she is. How any times has she sent Anna away, only to fight the urge to chase after her? How many times has she showed her resentment, only to feel the emptiness of having said the wrong words? Kissed her, when she should've been saying sorry? It was months ago when Elsa had told Anna she would try harder; really, she meant that she would chase her.

They're both liars, and Elsa can barely remember a time when they'd been anything else.

"Don't marry Hans," Elsa repeats, with a fierce determination. She reaches for Anna's leg, folded at the edge of the couch; she guides it so that her knee rests between her own legs - so that Anna has no choice but to tower over her, no choice but to put her free hand on Elsa's chest to join the other for balance.

Anna doesn't resist; she waits for Elsa to answer - for Elsa say what she's always been too cowardly to say.

And so Elsa swallows down her own fear, pushing away the uncertainty that threatens to break her resolve. "Kiss me for real this time," Elsa says. "Stay with me," she pauses, running a hand up Anna's thigh to rest it on her hip. "And leave him for good."

There's a stretch of silence as Anna only looks at her in response, and Elsa can feel the first tendrils of regret starting to claw at her stomach. But still, the spark of hope is a much stronger feeling.

Her heart beats like a war drum, filling the space between them. It's fast and steady; filled with anticipation in the contemplative quiet. She's sure Anna can feel it in her fingertips, the manic throbbing that rocks against her rib cage and shakes her bones, despite her cool composure. Does Anna know how scared she is? It feels like her heart might fissure. It feels like her heart might break. It can't be healthy.

Maybe she was right all those months ago; maybe this will be what kills her.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Anna speaks. "Is that what you want?" Her voice is small but clear, her eyes unwavering and attentive. She moves slowly, bringing her two hands to interlock behind Elsa's neck.

She's still unsure, and Elsa barely registers that Anna's giving her the choice. She's giving her the chance to say that she won't run away this time; that this is permanent, real, and absolute. She's looking for a promise that Elsa won't break. Can she even do that? Does such a thing exist?

But this is her chance.

_This_ is reciprocation.

Elsa nods, feeling a newfound energy; a tempered, electrifying courage. Her composure is unshakable. She knows what she wants, and it's the same thing that she's always wanted. It's what their parents had tried to deprive them of, it's what society has always told them they shouldn't have. It's the same reason Elsa's gaze keeps flitting to her sister's lips, with an irresistible desire to claim them.

"It hasn't changed," Elsa says. She speaks with a certainty that only barely masks how her stomach twists and turns, and how her heart flutters wildly. It's a final act of foolish, honest bravery. For the first time, she feels like the cool blue of the ocean.

She's infinite and she owns the tide.

"I've always wanted you, Anna. I've never wanted anything else. If anything in this world is infinite, believe me - _this is_."

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Sorry to leave it off like that. The ending was rewritten mercilessly. It was supposed to go on a bit longer and include some wrap up anecdotes regarding Hans; but I decided to leave it there and let you deduce from it what you will. **

**I was going through some of my old deviantart pieces (and I'm talking prose from like 5 years ago) and was inspired to write this - so that's where that rain scene came from! Also, I was and am largely inspired by the Dragon Age fic called Liars by Heath Wingwhit, which is probably one of the best stories I've ever read. So the title of this is kind of in homage to that fic, which is so flawlessly written.**

**My purpose was to move you; to provoke you. . . Not quite make you happy. The tone was a little bittersweet, but if you felt anything at all while reading this then that means I have succeeded in my intent. I wanted to explore the Elsanna relationship without the burden of a plot, without the limitation of chronology . . . Just interactions, stemming from one another - facets of their layered relationship. I wanted to give you the credit of not providing a backstory - just fragments of their history, peppered throughout. **

**It was supposed to be for the Elsanna contest on Tumblr, but life got in the way and I didn't make the deadline.**

**Many thanks for Frozsten and Hellohelbig for beta-ing. **

**Anywho, I hope you enjoyed it. I know it's a very different style of writing. **

**I'll be back to finishing off the 21 Jump Street fic now, though I only have a couple weeks left of my final semester in college - so updates will come whenever :) **


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